


darling won't you ease my troubled mind

by izzetboilerworks



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Breathplay, Humiliation kink, M/M, No Aftercare, Pain Kink, this is a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 08:12:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17117684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzetboilerworks/pseuds/izzetboilerworks
Summary: From a generator:Justin Verlander/ James McCann / handcuffs





	darling won't you ease my troubled mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saddestboner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saddestboner/gifts).



> This is bad and I feel bad. 
> 
> Unbeta'd.

Justin wouldn't let just anyone do this -- and to say he hasn't missed it would be a lie. It's been a long time, it feels like, even though it's only been a year and a half. Or maybe not even that long. But the hazy days of summer trades have faded like the green in leaves. They got bounced, this year, and Justin felt partially responsible. 

It wasn't _all_ him. But it was-- enough, honestly. 

He knows James is busy-- the twins, his wife, the trade (why are the White Sox so obsessed with former-Tigers catchers)-- and he has his own kid . He shouldn't be think of this, or giving in, or anything. Except, he can't help but want to be reigned in. 

He's been reeling from the post-season since it happened. And he doesn't trust just anyone to rein him in. Usually, he would have called Alex.

But James is bigger. He's-- more forceful. Whereas Alex tends to let up, James goes hard until he breaks. He doesn't think he stopped shuddering for hours, after the last time, and with his soul feeling rubbed raw and flayed open. 

It's dangerous. 

Kate's visiting her parents with Genevieve and he's home alone. Spring Training is just around the corner. 

_i need you_

He texts this to James, apropos of nothing. He knows he's near enough by. But now that their not teammates, now that James isn't his catcher, would he be willing to drop everything for him again. 

**okay**

They don't discuss the details; but Justin waits on pins and needles. 

*

James arrives and he looks tired. His thin white shirt stretches over broad shoulders and his hair is a mess. Justin wants to reach out to him but they don't do that, they don't do feelings. It's all about release. James has a duffel bag on his shoulder and his pale blue eyes stare into Justin like they're breaking him open. 

It's a new house, a new place, so Justin leads James to the bedroom and they don't talk. They don't have to. It's just like this is the beginning of the year before, when things seemed to be going okay, and they didn't need words because they know one another so incredibly deeply. 

Like the first time he and James fought and he'd given him that hard, piercing stare, and James had brought him back in line. 

Justin aches, the memory, and swallows down his feelings like he's going to choke on them. Justin lays on the bed and listens to the rough sound of the zipper being tugged open on the duffel. 

Justin closes his eyes, as the bed dips, and he feels the rough press against James's jeans against the bared skin where his shirt has ridden up, then the cool feeling of metal as his wrists are encircled. And with a snap they close and Justin _tugs_ and the sound the chains make rattle around and reverberate in his skull. 

James's hand comes up and closes around his throat and Justin's eyes fly open, he looks up, James's body eclipsing everything else, and he's not sure what part of it is making it hard for him to breathe. James's thumb digs into his adam's apple and he feels his body go limp under him. 

"It wasn't my fault." Justin chokes out the words, a desperate plea. 

But he knows that James knows that he doesn't think that. 

And he knows that James knows that he wants to be punished for it. His vision greys a little and James pulls back and Justin gulps in air like he's suffocating. 

"It wasn't." Justin says, his voice cracking. His voice cracks like the way James's palm hits his cheek. It rocks his vision for a moment, he seethes, and pain blossoms like a morning glory. He wraps his hands around the bedpost and hs nails dig into the wood. Justin squeezes his eyes shut. 

James has big hands and he's powerful, sometimes, Justin would get distracted, watching him take batting practice. Watching his biceps and his forearms flex. Watching as he'd take his jersey off after a game, and the _Captain America_ shirt would be clinging to him like a second skin, fabric near black, sweat dampened. 

(Justin was never brave enough to push it further, to go after things he wanted. Everything was going so well with Kate, he'd gotten over Alex, everything was so good. But one mistake and James had said, _"I know how to handle you._ " and everything had crashed down.) 

"Say it." James's voice is low and Justin rattles the handcuffs again. Justin whimpers under the sound of it. 

"I didn't." Justin defends himself again, his voice wavering, like he's about to cry. Another blow comes down, this time on the other cheek, and he feels addled. And hot. There's always the first moment where he feels unsettled, but then he's unchained. 

Well _chained_ but feeling wild. His heart beats like a stampede and he tastes copper on his tongue. He feels hot and hazy and he spreads his legs out and James settles back down, the curve of his ass pressing against Justin's dick. Justin bares his teeth like a grimace and rocks his hips up. 

"Not yet." James says, his voice cool. Justin tries to resist and James's fingers close around his throat again. He tries to breathe in and he can, for a little while, until James keeps pressing. He can see red at the corner of his vision, his heart is hammering and his lungs are burning. 

It's good, it's so good he wants to tell James how good it is. 

"I can't." Justin chokes out and James lets go, leaving Justin wheezing, He already feels like he's going to shatter. But it's-- not quite enough. Almost but not quite. James's fingers work the buttons on his dress shirt open, deft and quick, dextrous. 

Justin knows he's flushed everywhere, red, hot, too hot. 

"It wasn't me." Justin spits the words out and James clucks his tongue like he's disappointed, pushing the shirt off of Justin's shoulders. He feels unbuttoned too. Like James is going to use the same quick movements to divest him of everything. 

Already, he feels like it's uncoiling, like a spring is coming undone. That James has only been here for ten minutes and he effectively takes him down, brick by brick, until he's laid bare to his foundations and feeling desperately low and in a good way. 

"Of course it was you." James's intonation doesn't change. It's cold, soft but edged, dismissive, tempered steel. 

"I--" 

"Shut up." 

Justin bites the inside of his mouth until it stings. 

"Of course it was your fault." James shakes his head at him. "You had, what, one good run? You think that makes you good?" 

Justin opens his mouth to protest and pays for it, another sharp slap that makes him reel and makes his cock twitch and his hips jerk 

"You've always been a failure when it matters, Justin, you know that. _I_ know that. You can only fool people for so long." 

Justin scrabbles for better purchase and presses up, he wants more, he wants-- 

"I'm good." Justin protests and watches as James shakes his head again and grinds down. He flicks Justin's nipple with his nail when he tries to press up again, and it pebbles beneath the rough treatment and he keeps chewing the inside of his mouth desperately trying to fight. 

He knows when he gives in, it's over. He wants to give in. James's presence overwhelms him. He wants his mouth or his hand or whatever he wants to give. With his soul laid bare, if James wants to open him in other ways and slip inside it's fine. Already, James is nestled under his skin. 

(If he wasn't, he wouldn't want this still. He would have been stronger, to not contact him.) 

James's mouth is pressed in a line and Justin stares and blinks tears out of his eyes and fights against the bonds where the metal cuts into his wrists like repentance. Maybe James's mouth would press to his like absolution. 

He doesn't really believe in all of that, but if he did, if he could. 

"You're _good_." Justin can't tell if he's being mocked or not. "It's not about your skill, Justin. It's about your mettle. It's about how your skill disappears when everything is on the line. It's disappointing. _You're_ disappointing." 

That stings worse than James's hands. Is it true? It can't be and yet-- 

It's not true. 

"I have a ring." 

"Out of how many?" James cuts through. "You think not failing _once_ erases all the times you did." 

Justin opens his mouth again, another protest. It dies on his tongue as James's nails scratch down his abdomen, leaving marks, welts against his skin and his hands move up and lightly trace the rubbed raw skin where the handcuffs are. 

"Think about all the people you disappointed, Justin, over your career. You were supposed to be some phenom but you're nothing but a fraud. Zero legitimacy. You're always falling short." 

Justin can only resist for so long. For so much but he needs this. God, he needs it. He wants to tell James to make it hurt worse. Justin wants James's nails to dig in like splinters until he can't get him out from under his skin. He tugs more at the handcuffs and precome slicks the inside of his boxers as his hips shift and James stays sitting on him, pinning him down, and looking at him like he's a piece of nothing. 

Justin's so fucking keyed up. 

He wants to beg James to leave marks all over him, indelible. He'd have to hide from Kate, until they faded. 

James digs his nails into his hips, grinding against the bones. Justin's toes curl. He should get it over with. He should ask James to be more rough with him. To dial it up until he can't take anymore. Justin thinks he's already going to break. 

He wants to beg James to crack him open and let him spill out all over the floorboards. 

"Admit it." James says again and Justin can't open his mouth to protest, instead, he just shakes his head and cracks his eyes open to watch James's face. James's face doesn't change, it's impassive, coolly distant, eyes glittering like diamonds. He wants him to give in a little, but James never does. 

James isn't soft, he doesn't _feel_ for Justin like Alex had. He remains distant and disconnected, giving Justin what he wants without entangling things. Justin struggles to breathe and it isn't James's hands on his throat this time. 

Begging is too much like giving in so Justin doesn't, but James's nails dig into his skin and he makes short work of Justin's pants. He slides the slacks off and doesn't bother with anything else. The unzipping of James's own pants set Justin's teeth on edge.  
"You're still not gonna say it?" James asks and Justin shakes his head. 

James's fingers are blunt, dry, as they poke between Justin's cheeks and his body feels hot again and he feels ashamed, too, with his cock hard and leaking precome, and the way his legs fall open despite the discomfort. James's fingers are blunt, and big, and deft but unyielding and it's painful but he likes the sting of it. 

James forcing him open like he forces him to hear uncomfortable truths. His thighs shake and he tenses to fight everything off but they know the name of this game. 

James adds another finger and Justin squirms, his erection flags, and James keeps working him open, his nails scrape a little and James imagines the bright yellow stickers as he lays down signs. 

The signs he's laying down right now are a fast all, high and inside, and that's the only reason why Justin feels like he was caught looking. 

His nails bite into the wood more and his wrists are raw and they ache. And he focuses on that as James spreads his legs out wider and guides the head of his cock against Justin. 

James ducks his head and Justin feels saliva run down between his cheeks, and James's fingers again, slicking him up some but not nearly enough and he knows it's not going to even last long. James pushes in and Justin wails and white hot pain spikes across him and it's just what he wants and it's too much and it's too good. 

James doesn't bother keeping him quiet, like he would if they were in a hotel, the team sleeping nearby. James is big, his movement steady and deep, too much friction and it's nearly agony.

But it's a good agony. It's what he deserves. James is going to rub him so raw and wide open and everything is going to be back on it's regular axis. 

"You gonna say it?" James asks and be fucks Justin into the mattress, knocks the air out of his lungs. Sends a shower of sparks over his nerve endings. Burns away all of the feeling except for the discomfort of being flayed open. 

The teeth of James's zipper dig into his skin and sets him on edge. 

His knuckles hurt with how tight he grips the bedpost and it rattles against the wall as James fucks him. And he's close-- he's so fucking close to the edge when James eases off and pinches the inside of his thigh, making Justin shudder again. 

"Okay, you're right," Justin grinds the words out like he's chewing on glass, "I am a disappointment." 

It almost hurts to say.

"Good boy." James sounds sincere and condescending. He wraps his fingers around Justin's cock, squeezing at the base, and fucks him harder, until Justin has tears leaking out of his eyes and it's overwhelming. 

James pulls out and Justin shudders and the begging is on the tip of his tongue. James withdraws and and shifts position so he can kneel over him and Justin watches. 

James fists his own cock and comes all over James's stomach and his cock, white droplets in dark curly hair. Justin's cock twitches and he needs more, but James is already pulling up his pants. 

He unlocks the handcuffs and Justin's arms feel tired and he lowers them, feeling too pained to do anything. James roots around and tosses a towel at him. 

"Get in the shower, you're a mess." 

James leaves how he came, calm and collected and without a feeling or without an obvious feeling and Justin lays there, feeling hard and uncomfortable and strained and everything else. 

Eventually, he gets himself off, with tired lazy strokes, looking at the marks covering his wrists. 

He showers and eventually gets the will to pull up game film. See where the mistakes were. 

_thank you_ Justin sends. 

James doesn't respond and Justin knew he wouldn't. 

At least not until the next time.


End file.
